Haunted
by MichelleThatGirl
Summary: Set after 11x10 "The Devil in the Details", spoilers up to that episode. Diverges ever-so-slightly from canon. Could be seen as a sequel to "A Return to Hell" but can also be read seperately. Sam is back from Hell the second time and while he's healing up just fine physically, his mind isn't doing nearly as well. Hurt!Sam, Comforting!Dean. Oneshot. References to violence.


It's almost four in the morning when Dean is awoken by the sound of footsteps going down the hall. He knows it's Sam, both by the tell-tale sock-on-granite footfalls and the fact that his brother has woken up around this time every night since he got back from Hell the second time, four days ago. Dean wants to confront Sam, has wanted to since the first time it happened, but he doesn't know how. He knows his brother can't sleep and he has a pretty good guess as to why: nightmares. Dean's no stranger to them, just like Sam, and ordinarily, Dean would have talked to Sam about it by now. This time though, Dean is unsure. He knows he'd need to tread lightly.

However, Dean can't ignore this situation any longer. He gets out of bed, pulls on his robe over his T-shirt and boxers. Barefoot, he makes his way to the kitchen. The light is on and Sam is sitting at the table, head in his right hand, left arm in his sling, facing down. The faint rumble Dean hears from the corner of the room tells him that the coffeemaker is on. So, Sam obviously wasn't planning on going back to bed. Worrying.

"Sammy?"

Sam starts slightly at the sound of Dean's voice, looking up and pushing his hair away from his pale face.

"Dean. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nah, I was awake anyway. Woke up to pee, couldn't get back to sleep." Dean lies, not wanting to make Sam feel guilty. Sam is prone to feelings of guilt, after all.

"Oh." Sam shrugs in a non-commital way that tells Dean that Sam may know that he lied. He presses on anyway.

"How about you Sam? Why're you up?"

"Same thing. Couldn't get back to sleep." As if on cue, Sam yawns, bringing up his right hand to cover his mouth. Dean grins despite himself.

"You look pretty tired to me, Sam."

Sam looks down at the table, fidgets with a loose thread on his long-sleeved tee. Dean rounds the table, sits down on the chair next to Sam's.

"Sammy. Are you having nightmares?" Dean expects Sam to deny it, to shrug him off and tell him it's no big deal, he was just woken by some weird sounds the old pipes in the bunker were making. Instead, Sam nods. He has yet to meet Dean's eyes, looking instead at the counter across the kitchen.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Sam. You wanna talk about it?"

Sam is quiet for what feels like a very long time, before he answers in a small voice:

"I don't know what good that's gonna do, Dean."

Dean grimaces at the sadness and resignation in his little brother's tone.

"Maybe it'll help you. We haven't talked at all about what happened when you went back there. And I get that you don't want to, I do, but it scares me, man. You always wanna talk about things. But now, I feel like you're avoiding me. We've barely talked at all these past few days." Dean leans over to but a hand on Sam's shoulder. He barely makes contact before-

Sam jumps, pulling away from Dean's touch and scrambling to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. For a moment, the room is quiet, safe for the rattling sound of the chair on the floor.

Slowly, Sam turns around to face Dean, who's still sitting at the table, startled. Sam's eyes are wide, filled with tears.

"I'm sorry. Dean- I just- God. It's just- He- I'm sorry, but-" Sam stammers, unable to form a full sentence. He heaves a shuddering breath.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm sorry I scared you." Dean feels worry constricting his guts. This is so much worse than he'd thought.

"I just- Fuck." Sam covers his eyes with his hand, shuddering visibly.

"Sammy. Maybe you should sit back down. I promise I won't touch, okay?" Dean swallows hard, folding his hands in his lap.

Sam appears to consider this for a moment, before sitting down at the other end of the table, far away from Dean. He takes a few calming breaths, steadying himself. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes are fixed firmly on the surface of the table.

"You're right, Dean. I haven't been talking about what happened. The truth is... You were right. Me praying, that was a total joke. God wasn't talking to me at all. It was him. Sending me visions. And I fell for it, like an idiot. Like a dumb, weak, idiot sack of shit. I believed God was talking to me. Me! And I went back there, willingly, thinking I was gonna save the world. But I didn't save anyone. I just went back to Hell and let him beat the shit out of me and order me around and-" Sam stops his rapid-fire of words abrubtly.

Dean sees tears falling on to the table. His heart clenches for Sam. Dean hadn't known about the visions being from Lucifer. His poor brother. All he had wanted was to be picked by the good guys. And it had been the devil instead. Dean mentally kicks himself for poking fun at Sam's prayers: he should have understood what they had meant to him.

Dean feels horrible for Sam, can't stand to hear his brother talking about himself with such hate-filled words. He wants nothing more than to pull Sammy into a hug, but he doesn't dare to touch his brother again. He struggles for the right words to say.

Across the table, Sam is pulling himself together.

"Anyway. I was wrong. I went back. And that wasn't- Fun. But I'll be fine, Dean." Sam nods to himself, getting up. Dean supposes this signals the end of their decidedly one-sided conversation.

"I think I'm going to go back to bed after all." Sam turns, starting down the hallway.

Dean is left alone at the table, completely empty-handed of his brother. The coffeemaker dings.

.xxx.

When Dean returns to the kitchen the following morning, it's empty. There's a note on the table, though. Dean picks it up.

"Went for a run. Sorry about last night."

Dean sighs. What is he going to do about this? Sam is having nightmares, might even still be having visions of Lucifer for all he knows. He's obviously traumatised. And he doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to hug it out. Dean doesn't know how to even begin fixing this.

.xxx.

Meanwhile, Sam is outside in the forest, running as fast as he can. He's lightheaded, his stomach stings and his hurt shoulder is screaming at him but he can't stop. Not yet. After a few minutes more, Sam all but collapses. He puts his hands on his knees, heaves a few deep breaths. Suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He gasps, pulls away. When he turns around, he sees him. Lucifer. Lucifer is right there, in the forest. Free.

"Surprise, bunkbuddy!"

Sam reaches for the zipper on the pocket of his sweats, wants to grab his phone, wants to call Dean. Lucifer closes in. He reaches for Sam. Sam stumbles backwards, bumping his back into a tree. He closes his eyes, panic sending his pulse racing. He waits for the pain, the torture. It doesn't come. When Sam finally dares to open his eyes, Lucifer's not there.

Sam curses, humiliation coloring his cheeks red. Another hallucination. Probably sent to him by the real Lucifer, who must be laughing it up right now. God, he's an idiot. Sam runs a shaky hand through his hair, steels himself. He picks up the pace again and continues running.

The End.


End file.
